


The Moments He Had Lost

by perhapsitsem



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Spoilers, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Pietro Maximoff-centric, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), background Wanda/Vision, canon compliant (I think), kinda an afterlife sort of thing, no one dies during the fic but pietro is already dead, whatever the uno reverse card version of grief is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:06:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28881435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perhapsitsem/pseuds/perhapsitsem
Summary: The room he was in was grey, so light it was nearly white, with no discernible features. As his eyes grew more aware, he questioned whether it would be right to call it a room. There weren’t any walls, but he certainly wasn’t outside. It was like no place he’d ever been in before, the space felt indefinite.
Relationships: Pietro Maximoff & Wanda Maximoff, Wanda Maximoff/Vision
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	The Moments He Had Lost

Pietro turned over in his bed, prolonging the process of truely waking up. Against his wishes, however, he slowly became more aware of his surroundings. The blankets he had wrapped himself in the midst of his slumber were much more comfortable than the ones he usually slept with, he noticed. A soft breeze pushed against his face, bringing light with it. The light eazed his eyes open with a gentleness.

The room he was in was grey, so light it was nearly white, with no discernible features. As his eyes grew more aware, he questioned whether it would be right to call it a room. There weren’t any walls, but he certainly wasn’t outside. It was like no place he’d ever been in before, the space felt indefinite. The only piece of furniture he could see was the bed he sat on, but he wouldn’t call it empty. He wasn’t sure where it came from, but he got the feeling he simply had to draw forth items and the space would fill.

An armchair, resembling the one his mother used to sit in to read stories to him and his sister from formed up from the floor a little ways away from the bed. When they were good, their mother would read two of their favorite stories to them, instead of the usual one. It was rare for there to be a day where both he and his sister had been good. Pietro tested his legs and found that they weren’t sore, as they were most days as of late. He walked over to the chair and reached a hand out, feeling the slightly raised texture of the rose pattern. He could smell his mother’s perfume, and her voice echoed throughout the space, although he couldn’t quite make out what the words were.

He sat down, and drew forth the round dinner table that his father would sit at until the early hours of morning. As a little boy, Pietro was prone to nightmares. There were many times when he would wake up after having one, then wordlessly sit next to his father, at this table, with his head resting against him as he listened to the sound of graphite against paper, eventually falling into blissful sleep. He never got to read what his father was writing. He told him it was a story for him and his sister “and I suppose if there’s any other little children who are as clever, and thoughtful, and fantastic as the two of you, then they can read it as well, but I don’t believe such children exist.” He had been close to finishing it-

Pietro blinked away the tears he didn’t realize he had shed. He turned his attention back to the bed. He had no use for it anymore, so he let it fall away, only the blanket remaining. He wrapped it around his shoulders like a cape. It wasn’t cold, but the blanket was comforting. The space was endless, he already knew that, but he needed to test it. He began to run. At first, no more than a jog, but eventually he was whipping through the air. He didn’t need to run. He needed to figure out where he was and how he had gotten there. But that’s what he was scared of.

He skidded to a stop, gasping. In front of him was an endless curtain, sheer. He reached out.

“Wanda!”

She was alone in a bedroom, with a blank expression, staring off at nothing. Her neck turned and her eyes attentively scanned the room for what had tried to grasp her attention.

“Wanda!” A grin broke out on Pietro’s face and he ran closer to the curtain. The farther he ran, the farther the curtain moved. He couldn’t catch up to it.

“Wanda?”

She was still searching for him, but he couldn’t run fast enough to reach her.

The artificial man, Vision, floated through a wall into the room. “Ms. Maximoff, Mr. Stark was looking for you.”

“Do you know what for?” Their conversation sounded distant. He strained to hear it, but it faded out.

He turned back to face the space. “Could this be the afterlife?” He wondered aloud. By the time that he had died, he had decided that he didn’t believe in an afterlife. He thought that once he died, that would be it. That didn’t stop him from hoping that if there was one, his parents would be there.

He tried to bring forth his parents. He was only able to bring forth his father’s wristwatch and his mother’s locket. The watch didn’t tick and the locket had lost its pictures. This wasn’t what he wanted.

He turned to the curtain. It was now much later. Wanda was on the roof of a building, looking up at the stars. They used to do that together. Neither of them knew any constellations, so they just made ones up. He would laugh when she claimed she could see a hybrid dragon-lion in the stars.

“Wanda.” His voice strained.

She looked around the rooftop.

“Wanda, please. It’s me,”

She stood up and looked over the side of the building.

“I’m not done there, I’m right here.” A tear flowed freely down his cheek. “Wanda, I’m right here.”

She kept looking but she could find his voice.

“Can you hear me?”

“Ms. Maximoff. It’s getting rather late. I’ve noticed you’ve been quite insomniatic lately and I do believe…” Vision’s voice dropped out.

Pietro kicked the air in frustration. “Seriously? I was so close-” He brought forth a punching bag and weakly punched it. It fell away.  
A sob overwhelmed him. Instead of pushing his emotions away as he was used to, he let himself cry. He cried for all the life he wouldn’t get to live. He cried for all the moments he had lost. He cried for the family he never got to have. He cried for all the times that Wanda would realize he wasn’t there. He cried for quite some time, and even when he stopped, when he had no tears left, it still was not enough.

Wanda turned on a light in a bathroom, just off of the bedroom she had been in before. She took a deep breath before beginning to apply a red hair dye. If Pietro were there, he’d be doing this for her. He’d probably accidentally stain his hands red because he thought it’d be funny to chase her around with dye all over his hands. Wanda would kick him out of the bathroom, saying that she could do it herself and he was just making it harder, but then she would miss him being next to her. So she’d sneak out of the bathroom to find him, and reach toward his hair with dye still on her hand. He’d yell at her, but he’d end up liking the streak of red in his hair and would later claim he did it on purpose. Wanda would hear him and she’d correct him, saying that she was the one who did it on purpose.

“Wanda…” His voice rasped as if he had never spoken before.

“Wanda.”

Her eyes flicked around the room, but she seemed to mostly ignore it this time.

“Wanda. It’s me, Pietro. I’m here. I’m right here.”

She turned to look in the bedroom, but couldn’t find anyone.

“I don’t think you can see me, but I’m here, Wanda. I can see you.”

She was processing something but he couldn’t be sure it was his words.

“Wanda? I- I’m not sure that you can hear me. If you can… Can you say something?”

Seconds turned into minutes and Wanda continued to slowly apply color to her hair. “Pietro.” She whispered, barely audible.

Fresh tears began to coat his cheeks. “I’m here, Wanda. I’m right here. I- I know I’m gone but I’m right here.”

Wanda began to tear up.

Vision walked in through the door. “Wanda? You didn’t tell me you’d be changing your hair color. Is this a spur of the moment decision?”

Wanda tried to wipe the tears off her face, but only smeared red. “I… I’ve been wanting to do this for a while.”

“Would you like any assistance?”

“No thank you, Vis.” She smiled at him. “I can do it myself.”

**Author's Note:**

> if wandavision doesn't let wanda grieve over pietro i will have to beat someone at marvel up (/j)


End file.
